Rice
by SheerSaxifrage
Summary: "She looked at the people of her tribe, all bones and anger from the hunger. She looked at her husband, with his thin face and the quiet resignation in his eyes. She looked at their daughter, a miracle for having survived to four years old with the way things were." (Chief Rinkah vs. a man-made famine.)
1. I

**I**

"I think it'll work out," Kaze reassured her.

"No. They're asking for too much."

They sat together at the Great Fire Pit, low voices drowned out by the commotion around them. A young couple had just gotten engaged, and as was customary the entire tribe gathered to celebrate. There was music; there was wine; there was conversation. Married people danced around the fire with their spouses, a plea to The God of Flame to bless the newly engaged couple.

Rinkah and Kaze sat to the right of her father, who oversaw everything with the dignity of a man who'd lead his tribe from obscurity to prosperity over his thirty-year reign. Rinkah could do little to effect any of his decisions, but she kept herself up to date on the political workings of the tribe. One day she would become chief herself, and every decision she made would be built off of what he'd established.

"We often produce more than we consume," Kaze continued. "By the guidelines of his plan, we should be getting enough back to sustain ourselves."

She might have found his ignorance on the matter endearing, if the situation weren't so deeply troubling. As an Outsider Kaze was not allowed to lay eyes on any official Flame Tribe document. He could only go by King Ryoma's edict, which naturally cast the new policy in a favorable light.

"But how can he judge what we need? This new king has never stepped foot in Flame Tribe territory."

Kaze shrugged, turning away to stare at the Great Fire Pit. "I'm sure our demographics speak for themselves."

She placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in until she was sure only he could hear her. Through clenched teeth she finally told him, "Kaze, the quota equals out to _thirty percent of our crops_."

She felt his muscles tense beneath her hand, his pulse picking up for a moment before settling back to it's slow, lulling beat. Slowly he turned to her, eyes flat with alarm. "… but surely we'll get something in return. I've known King Ryoma since we were both children. His judgment is sound, and he holds no ill-will against any of the tribes." He placed his cool hand over hers, leaning in close. "If he thinks this is a good plan, we need to trust his judgment."

(Just as their chief said. Rinkah knew they'd get along famously, if her father would only _talk_ to her husband.)

"But let's not think about that right now," he quickly added. "The sun is shining, the fire is going strong, and love is the theme of this bright-night." He smiled, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Surly it wouldn't turn _too_ many heads if we danced together."

Rinkah's stomach flipped in that funny, flighty way she hated. She knew Outsiders referred to the sensation as ' _butterflies'._ The Flame Tribe had no official word for it, preferring to leave such base signals of weakness without words of description. They believed that when something didn't have a name, it was cast in the realm of illusion.

But that wasn't true—Rinkah knew this because she lived it. When she first laid eyes on Kaze two years before, the ninja had came to deliver a message from the capital. She saw him approaching from beyond the mountains that surrounded their valley, sun catching in his hair and circulate. With him in her sights the sky was a deeper shade of blue, the mountains stood sturdy with purpose, and the wind parted their fields of wheat as though welcoming him to their lands.

These were not things she could have imagined—from that moment on, he belonged to the Flame Tribe. He came in early fall and by winter they were married in the witness of the God of the Flame, Igasato's matron, and the Dawn Dragon. Mixed marriages in their tribe were rare. Why bring in an Outsider when it was their way to stress isolation? But Kaze was a gift to her from the God of Flame, couldn't they see that? How could they look at him and not love him as she did?

So they rose. Rinkah danced with him, watching the light sway in his eyes, blind to the murmurs and disparaging looks. Together they became lost in their plea to the God of Flame: _yes, please, let this young couple have this. I want_ everyone _to feel what I feel right now._

* * *

The next bright-night, when everyone was asleep and Rinkah was sure no one would overhear, she further explained the policy to Kaze.

"So you see, children and elders will be receiving three cups of grain per day, and two of vegetable. Able-bodied adults will receive half that amount."

Kaze nodded, running his thumb across his bottom lip as he stared at the numbers. She'd rewritten the figures from one of their official documents, and they sat close with their heads bent over the copy as Rinkah broke down the figures even further.

"It goes without saying," she concluded, "that we'll be getting the same amount as everyone else."

"Of course," he murmured. "But this is only until the first import, yes?"

"Right. Hopefully it'll be enough that we won't have to ration things so strictly anymore."

He sighed. "Well, we have no choice. We can't let some starve while others go on as usual." He side-eyed the copy as though the piece of paper were guilty of something. Turning his head away, he reminded her that it was only temporary.

* * *

Days later, the policy went into effect. Over the course of the next month Rinkah was tasked with overseeing the collection of crops. Wheat and root vegetables and herbs and hearty grains were collected into barrels and crates, strapped onto the backs of capable Flame Tribesmen, and escorted by court officials to the mainland.

They sent the quota, setting their sights on what they were guaranteed in return with crops from elsewhere in Hoshido. As Rinkah watched the last of the exports go out, and when she was sure they were out of earshot, she sighed loudly. "This doesn't make any sense!"

Kaze dropped down from the tree above her. "Perhaps the point of this is to tie our tribe to the crown."

"But we've never rebelled against the royal family. It would be a crime against the Dawn Dragon to do so."

"Of course, but you know there are ambitious young rulers who will risk the hereafter for success on earth."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Kaze shrugged. "King Ryoma doesn't know you. He may be preparing for the day your father becomes one with the sun. If our tribe is made dependent on the mainland, it wouldn't matter if you prove to be a disruptive chief. A rebellion would only end in failure."

She glared at him. "He doesn't know me to be making such rash assumptions!"

It was times like this that she hated the height difference between them. She could do without him staring down in that impassive way of his, eternally unmoved by her outbursts. "It's just a theory. I can't think of any other reason why he'd do this."

Rinkah turned back to stare at the tribesmen she'd sent out, mere specks in the horizon. As much as it infuriated her, she hoped her husband was right.

* * *

King Ryoma had the divine right to rule, and so his word was law. Everyone knew it. Everyone understood. Everyone went along.

Even so, one week into the rationing and there were already complaints, protests, and covert attempts at negotiating more food. Rinkah could hardly blame anyone for this, but what could she do? It was as Kaze said: to give some more food would be to starve others.

There was no limit to how much they could fish, and this was how they survived the first month. Flame Tribe members would gather around the river just outside their territory, rods in hand, hoping to catch some supplement for themselves and their families. Rinkah and Kaze joined them every few days, and Rinkah did her best to ignore the pointed stares they received.

It certainly never seemed to faze Kaze. Unlike Rinkah, he possessed the patience needed to actually _enjoy_ fishing. They'd sit side-by-side by the edge of river, beneath one of the sycamore trees that acted as the unofficial Flame Tribe border.

"When I was a boy," he began one day as they waited for a fish to bite, "going out fishing was both a chore and an event for my brother and I. We were only ever taken to help fish outside of Igasato when the harvest season was bad and we needed to supplement. Between our education and training there was hardly time for anything else, so it was a nice break in routine."

Rinkah tried to visualize the picture Kaze was painting for her, but it was hard to picture a place she had never been invited to visit. Still, she could match his feelings. "That reminds me of when mother would take me to see her friends near the Nohrian border. She always made me lie to father about where we were going, which was a thrill all on its own. And then we'd go to the places stuck at sundown, which… was certainly interesting," she grinned. "I don't envy the Nohrians, but things just look _different_ when it's dark out. It's almost nice."

"I agree. You can't see things clearly, which means they can be anything."

Rinkah remained silent for a moment, admiring the reflection of the sycamore leaves in the river's clear surface. "Nohr's gift is the illusion of infinite potential. However, Hoshido has reality. It's much better to see things as they are, isn't it?"

"It's interesting that you'd say that." Kaze kept his sights on the still river, where water met sky. "I always thought that despite what our leaders tell us, as humans we possess both light and darkness, neither of which is inherently good or evil. Isn't facing reality simply the first step in resignation? And isn't self-deception really just hope by another name? In that case, Nohr's gift is just as strong, and one that we need to make life worth living."

Rinkah raised an eyebrow, smiling wryly. "You sound like my mother's friends."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "It makes sense that they would see things that way. Minority groups have to form their own beliefs to avoid the decimation of their culture. Even the Flame Tribe is no different."

"Whatever you say," Rinkah drawled. She wished she'd brought her tobacco pipe with her. "Just don't forget what you promised on our wedding day."

Along with the standard declarations, Kaze made an additional show of humility by vowing to be 'a log of wood thrown into the pyre'. The vow of assimilation meant that he had to adopt the views of the tribe, no matter the cost to his previous self. He was usually quite good about it, but still needed the occasional reminder.

Kaze blinked hard, coming back to himself. He rested his head against the tree trunk and smiled like the sun. "But of course, reality is unwavering—as is the light and all that it reveals. The God of Flame is the epitome of that, illuminating everything in his path and burning what doesn't meet the standard of truth. Our god abhors mysteries and so do we."

Rinkah stroked his cheek affectionately. Kaze really was wonderful. If the gods were capable of error, she would surely think he'd been born into the wrong village.

* * *

The crops sent over from the mainland came one month later. Incorporating the imports, the tribe ultimately lost five percent of their crops overall, which was supplemented by hunting and fishing. The imports were timed coincide with their exports from that point forward. So long as things remained stable, the system would work fine.

But not all harvests were good. Rinkah sat with her father and Kaze around the Great Fire Pit again, at the communal feast held to celebrate the imports. She stared at the food in front of her, unable to bring herself to eat it.

Kaze bit into an apple. "What's wrong?"

"We have a fixed quota. Nowhere in the edict does is make room for any exceptions." She looked out at the people of her tribe. "If they caught us during a bad year, this could've gone another way."

The ninja swallowed what was in his mouth, and wrapped his arm around Rinkah's shoulders. "We'll be fine even if that comes to pass. There are the imports—"

"In which we'll never get back everything we export." She wormed her way out of his grasp. "You do realize that, don't you? I went over everything again last night and this is a terrible deal! It'll always be a loss for us!"

"You're overthinking this. King Ryoma is a reasonable man. I've never known him to take from those who can't afford to give. In fact, he probably put this policy in place to save some other Hoshidan village suffering from famine."

"Then he should have just sent the surplus from Shirasagi." She rolled her eyes at the incredulous look Kaze tried to give. "Oh, please! I remember how you described that place. It's the picture of opulence."

"Yes, and the children of the Dawn Dragon deserve no less."

"Look, all I'm saying is this doesn't convince me."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Why are you so pessimistic?"

"I'm not. I simply see things for what they are, as is the way of my tribe and my god." She pointed to the sky, to the deity who would blind her if she stared at him for too long. "You best start doing the same."


	2. II

**II**

"The shamans say rain's coming."

"That's good."

"More than usual."

Rinkah continued to shovel rice in her mouth. Most years they never got more than light drizzle, and he knew just as well as she did how sensitive their crops were to overwatering. She hated the policy—hated it the entire three years they'd been living under it—but thus far there'd been no major hiccups. Her husband took this to mean it would succeed in the long term, and she was dreading having to deliver the news that that wasn't so.

"How much?"

There was no more rice in the bowl. Rinkah placed it on the table harder than necessary, wood clashed to wood. She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth.

"Rinkah." He sounded oddly breathless for someone sitting still. "How much rain?"

She took a chopstick and dragged it along the warped grooves of their wood table. "We don't know."

Kaze exhaled hard. "Good. If we're lucky it won't be by much."

* * *

"Did I ever tell you about the time Saizo broke our matron's statue?"

Rinkah and Kaze were in bed. The summer heat roared over them in waves. She tried to ignore the stale wanting that had settled on her like a second skin, the dull ache in her stomach. Instead, she chose to lay her head on Kaze's chest and listen to the thrum of his heartbeat. "No, you never told me."

"We had just finished our morning prayers in her temple. We knew as soon as we stepped outside our training would begin, and we were still young enough to want to stall for time. So we took to horsing around… one thing led to another, and Saizo wound up kicking her statue clear across the room!"

Rinkah snorted. "And what happened?'

Kaze wrapped his arm around her shoulders, combing his fingers through her matted hair. "Our father heard the crash, of course. Saizo got twenty lashes for his carelessness, and I got ten for not stopping him in time."

Rinkah sucked her teeth. It seemed Kaze's childhood stories always involved him getting smacked around for something Saizo did. Still, her husband's tone was light with amusement as he continued. "And then, of course, he had to replace it. We needed one fast, and what he wound up sculpting was so crude it looked like it came from the bones-and-sticks era."

Rinkah yawned. "Well, no one ever said he was an artist."

She could hear the smile in his voice. "And yet, we never felt her presence more. It's still up in Igasato's temple today."

She wondered if she'd ever get to see it—not that Kaze's old goddess mattered, of course. "The good gods have a soft spot for children. I know ours pays special attention to prayers said on their behalf."

"Then hopefully he'll grant our wish soon."

Her father liked to pretend she wasn't married, but it didn't stop him from needling her about getting pregnant. The tribe needed inheritors, and as the chief's only surviving child it was her duty to provide them. "People have been talking."

Kaze stared hard at the ceiling. "Then they should give us one of theirs if they're so concerned about it."

"You know they would never. It's a curse to abandon your blood."

"Right."

They fell to silence. Their tribe considered children the greatest blessing the God of Flame could bestow; families with six, seven, or eight were not an uncommon sight. They had been trying since their wedding night to conceive, but five years in and she was beginning to wonder if they'd even be worthy of one.

"Do you remember how my father treated Orochi during her failures?"

"I remember." How could she forget? He banished her from Igasato no less than five times, one for every miscarriage she had. She stood with them once while Saizo eased the way for her return, and she didn't hold anything back. _He says I'm not a real woman. Says I'm only as useful as the number of sons I give them._ Rinkah knew the words weren't meant for her, but they still stung, especially as someone who had never been pregnant at all.

 _What good are you if you can't have children?_

"When I went to visit last week, she told me how she finally brought number six to term. She went to the riverbank on the first day of spring. There, she prayed to give birth to a boy whose legacy would totally eclipse Saizo the Fourth's. And, well… you know my nephew was born the following winter."

" _May his first years be blessed and may he live one hundred more,"_ she recited compulsively. She propped herself up on her shoulder to get a better look at him. "Father badgers me, but he isn't cruel about it. I have no reason to spite him."

"I know, that's not the point. What I'm trying to say is, Orochi had to manifest Saizo the Sixth before he came through her body. Maybe we could ask her to do the same for you."

* * *

A few weeks later, she and Orochi stood before the Great Fire Pit. It was well into the bright-night, and there was no one around to question why an Outsider was so close to their living shrine. After asking receiving the God of Flame's permission, Orochi created a temporary altar to the river goddess who helped her carry her son to term; she made libations to them both, and then set up a circle of charms around herself, Rinkah, the water altar and the edge of the fire pit.

"We're ready to begin." Orochi took hold of Rinkah's hands, gold bracelets clattering against each other. "Close your eyes, take several deep breathes, and empty your mind."

Rinkah did as she was told—or, she tried to. She wasn't very adept at meditating, and her mind naturally drifted tribal concerns, the most pressing being the prediction of the unusually heavy rainy season. _The rain… the exports… ruined crops… a way to heal them? No, that's stupid… is it? No, it has to be stopped before that, it—_

"Now, I need you to imagine the sort of child you want to bring into the world."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly as I say. Do you want a fighter? An artist? A philosopher? There are many different souls in the ether, all wanting the human experience. Bring to mind the one you want. By doing this, you'll invite that soul to come through your body."

For as much as she wanted (and needed) a child, she had never given much thought to what she wanted them to _be_ like. The word 'warrior' came to mind, but when she tried to conjure what that meant, all she could picture were dead crops being healed, bones, mysteries, rainwater, wombwater. The ominous policy. Money. Plants again. Green. It was the color where she caught herself, tried to redirect her thoughts to imaging the warrior the Flame Tribe needed, but it couldn't be erased. The color permeated everything. _Green plants. Green water. Green potions. Green paper. Green weapon. Green borders. Green sky. Green spark._

"The God of Flame represents all that is true, the illumination of consciousness. The Goddess of Riverbanks carries our wishes for us. May the spark be carried to completion."

* * *

"I don't think it worked."

Rinkah had just carried out the last of Orochi's instructions, but even while she was riding Kaze she couldn't get the blasted color out of her mind. With the rate she was going it would come out with green skin, and she'd rather have no child at all than something that strange happen.

"Don't say that." He was still slightly out of breath. "It'll work. We'll get the child you manifested."

But she didn't want that child. She knew the tribe wouldn't, either.

* * *

 _This can't be happening._

She stood in the center of their vegetable fields. Humidity from the week-long deluge boiled in silent waves across the ground as their farmers toiled, wrenching up from the ground spoiled crop after spoiled crop. Wild dogs sniffed at the baskets filled with rot before scurrying away. Rinkah stood paralyzed at the center of it all, the late summer heat settling into her skin.

Kaze pinched the bridge of his nose and spread his fingers across his eyes. He was covered in dirt. His damp shirt clung to him, and he was heavy with exhaustion after a full day of 'harvesting'. He didn't wait for her to ask. "I would say about ten percent is salvageable."

He might as well have punched her in the gut. "Okay, well…" she shrugged, helpless. "We have to keep what's edible."

She expected some flowery defense of the Dawn Dragon's ' _precious children'_ , but Kaze simply nodded in agreement. "I'll go to Shirasagi with the escorts tomorrow and request a supplementary import."

"Rinkah!"

She turned and saw a small child running to her. "The chief said you have to come, quick!"

* * *

When the rains finally stopped that morning, she ran to survey the fields around the Flame Tribe villages; she hadn't given a single thought to the Great Fire Pit. But even if she had come immediately, there was nothing she could have done. The rain flooded it completely. Stocks of swollen wood floated listlessly on the surface. Scores of children—at least, the ones not out in the fields—scurried frantically around the edge, carrying out water in jars and bowls and vases and their cupped hands.

She helped as much as she could, but the damage had already been done. The God of Flame tasked them with keeping his living shrine alive, and they had for nearly a hundred and forty-two years. The last time it went out, the Flame Tribe endured an unprecedented period of poverty that culminated in their invasion by the Earth Tribe.

It was a piece in Flame Tribe history that their public curriculum glossed over, but one day her mother told her and her siblings about it in-depth. Even then she knew it wasn't truly meant for her, the baby of the clan; but she still remembered everything.

The Earth Tribesmen were a nomadic people who passed their time hunting game, carving crude pictures into stone, and working to make more little barbarians. They seemed to roam in no particular pattern, moving amorphously about Hoshido—and it was in this way they eventually stumbled upon their valley, ravaged by the God of Flame's punishment.

It was like a wolf finding a wounded lamb: the takeover was immediate. The old chief was beheaded, their men were enslaved, their women were forced to marry and breed with the Earth Tribe warriors. The barbarians were quick to realize the importance of the Old Fire Pit and filled it with dirt and stones.

The occupation lasted seven years, and in that time no one came to save them. Many of their people came to believe that the God of Flame abandoned them, but one day, an ordinary woman risked execution by digging a hole in the ground, lighting a fire, and dedicating it to her old deity. He was so touched by this show of devotion that he granted her his blessing; with this divine aide, she went on to organize a rebellion so finely calculated that the invaders knew nothing until it was too late.

It was like a log in the pyre: once the Earth Tribe was ensnared, they couldn't escape it. The Flame Tribe burnt their leaders alive and beheaded all the other adults. Once there was no one left to stop them, they took all the Earth Tribe children—even those born to Flame Tribe women—and threw them into the Great Fire Pit as an offering to the God of Flame, asking that ten thousand children be born for each one that was sacrificed.

The leader of the rebellion was their great-great-great-great grandmother, and her sacrifices—which included two of her own children—turned her into a legend. The Flame Tribe still held onto many of her edicts, one of the most prominent being: _no Outsiders._

Even though the invasion happened long after the living shrine was snuffed, many tribesmen felt the Earth Tribe was somehow responsible for the initial burnout. Kaze had nothing to do with their bout of misfortune, but even after the pit had been drained and their shamans rekindled the sacred fire, she worried her husband would be blamed for what happened.

* * *

After Kaze and the escorts left the next day she and her father informed the rest of the tribe. He urged everyone to stay calm, and to sustain themselves using what had been preserved from the spring harvest until 'the ninja' returned with more.

As much as she hated the redistribution policy, Rinkah could admit that it could work in their favor this time. If her husband was right and the entire policy existed to ease famine everywhere, then surely, they had helped other villages in need with their bountiful harvests. It was time for the Flame Tribe to be helped in turn.

Kaze returned a week later in the middle of the bright-night. Rinkah nearly attacked him when he jolted her awake. "Don't scare me like that!"

"Please keep your voice down, dear."

"It's your fault for waking me," she grumbled. She scrubbed the sleep from her eyes. "How was your trip? How much did you bring?"

He crouched down at her side, and up-close she could see worry and lack of sleep engraved into his face. He didn't look up from the ground as he told her, "the king wasn't pleased with the quality of our export, and he became angrier still when the escorts told him we kept what was edible."

White-hot anger bloomed in her chest. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Our import has been cancelled, and our request for more food was denied."

* * *

Throughout the fall months, her period gradually became lighter and lighter. Once winter came it stopped completely.

The previous village doctor had been a spindly old woman in her 80s, but the hunger took her halfway through fall; her own daughter and granddaughter had passed away years before, which left the tribe with her teenage great-granddaughter.

The girl roughly poked Rinkah's midsection. "Any chance you're pregnant?"

The Cursed Color flashed in her mind. Rinkah answered with a curt 'no'.

"In that case, it's probably the hunger. You're not the only one going through it. Once better times come, it'll come back like it never even left."

* * *

After the ruined summer harvest, every able-bodied person was called to the fields to make up what they had lost—but between the too-moist earth, the multitude of inexperienced hands, and their dwindling food supply, the autumn harvest wasn't much better. Worst still, under threat of retaliation the tribe was barred from keeping what was edible, and what was sent in return was barely consumable.

Winter was the hardest season even in the best of times, but now even children were being called to farm and fish. Rinkah was eager to join them, but Kaze insisted against it.

"Your father needs your help in running the tribe. Besides, I'm a ninja—I'm used to doing grunt work."

She swore he became more and more transparent every day. "You know I'm not pregnant, right?"

"Of course, I trust our doctor knows exactly what she's doing. Why, just the other day I saw her expertly bandage a festering wound using ivy leaves, and her patient only passed out twice."

"Oh, shut up."

"So, what, you've totally discarded the possibility based on the word of a novice?"

"One ritual isn't going to reverse five years of infertility."

Kaze crossed his arms. "I'll summon Orochi for a second, then."

"Don't bother. You think I'm going to bring a child into the world _now?_ With the way things are, I'd probably give birth to a dead thing." She grabbed their plow from the corner of their main room, rolling it with her into the cold. "Don't wait up for me."


	3. III

**III**

By mid-winter, her stomach began to distend.

When Rinkah went to go see her, the village doctor was busy rifling through half-empty herb jars. "Hey, it's what happens," she told her, not looking up from her work. "Starvation hits, but the stomach grows! It's been happening to some of the kids. Aren't bodies the weirdest thing?"

By then they were down to one meal on most days (two if the fish were feeling particularly stupid). Rinkah knew people were starting to get creative about where they got their food, but there were only so many crickets and grasshoppers to go around. She decided to leave those to everyone else, both for her people and for the small spark of pride she had left.

Besides, she had her own work-arounds. When she wasn't out in the fields or by the river or in her father's quarters, she'd be out in the forest collecting slabs of tree bark. She showed Kaze how to whittle off the bark and rough bits to get to the cambium beneath; they would then portion some off for themselves and ration out the rest to as many people as they could.

"How'd you learn this was edible? I never would have guessed," he asked her one bright-night over rice and fried bark.

"Mother was big on this sort of thing."

"Really? My mother knew quite a bit about the outdoors, too."

His smile was tight, and Rinkah couldn't tell if he swallowed some bark wrong or if it was the mention of that woman. Kaze rarely talked about her. The most Rinkah knew actually came from Saizo the Third, who dissolved into a fractured spiel about her during his sole visit to the Flame Tribe before his death.

 _She was a thief, but we broke her of that. Still, she wasn't a house girl... my son allowed it since it was better than having her prancing around the house, breaking all our things. She even gave birth to the boys outside, though she tried to throw Kaze away 'cause her people thought twins were a curse._

(She remembered how he laughed then, as if infanticide were just another quirk of hers.)

 _That stupid bitch could barely read, but she sure could live outside. Could do just about anything out there, except swim apparently. Guess that's why she drowned in that damn cow pond. The boys were so upset when they found her._

Rinkah's mind still recoiled at the last bit, said just before her husband re-entered the room. She'd lost most of her family, but was at least allowed the grace of not having stumbled upon the scene. And of course, there was the disturbing detail that cow ponds were only ever a foot or so deep—

"So, what did the doctor say today?" he asked.

Rinkah dismissed the feral woman from her thoughts. "About?"

He gestured wordlessly at her midsection.

"That it's normal," she said through her full mouth. She swallowed roughly; the stiff pieces of fried bark grated down her throat.

"Of course it's _normal_ , but was she at least able to tell how far along you are?"

He sounded just like her father with his incessant badgering. "I'm not pregnant. She said this sometimes happens to people… who are living the way we are."

He smiled wryly. "So you mean to tell me you're the only adult suffering from what's typically a child's ailment? That's quite the miracle."

She tossed her bowl on the table. "Isn't it?"

* * *

Early one morning, she asked Kaze to come with her into the forest under the guise of teaching him how to harvest bark—but once under the thick cover of the forest, she let her true intentions be known. "My father is thinking about requesting council with King Ryoma concerning the policy. He wants to know if you have any advice on how he should do it."

She knew the Chief of the Flame Tribe wouldn't appreciate his daughter phrasing his request so bluntly, because why would he need an _Outsider's_ help? Still, her heart swelled when she saw Kaze's face light up. "Of course, I would be happy to assist the chief. When does he want to see me?"

She hated having to break his lofty dreams. "He doesn't. You know how it goes: you tell me, then I tell him."

He wilted a bit, but continued anyway. "Our tribe sits on the edges of Hoshidan society. The truth is, King Ryoma isn't likely to respond to your father's request for _anything_ , let alone a meeting."

She imagined the lofty king, sitting atop his light-infused throne in the world-apart that was Shirasagi Palace. He was the Dawn Dragon's favorite child, and Rinkah understood, accepted, went along—but the mere thought of that smug bastard denying her father made her blood pulse hot with rage. "What, does he think he's too good for us?"

"He _knows_ he is."

Rinkah dragged her hands down over her face. "Okay… okay. He's listened to you before, hasn't he? Maybe you can speak on our behalf."

"No, I've been here too long. Last time I went to Shirasagi, he talked to me like I was a rock on the ground."

Rinkah scooped out dirt from the edges of her nails. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm used to not being liked."

She turned back to her husband, studied him: the hollow of his cheek, the way his sallow skin wrapped tightly around his thin bones, how his once-fitting clothes now danced on him. The dark circles beneath his eyes made him seem almost skeletal, but even in all his dreadful wanting she still thought he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever laid eyes on. But there was another version of him, the stockier one with red hair and angry eyes. The one who never would've been thrown away. "What about Saizo?"

Kaze nodded slowly. "He could. But if I bring him here, will your father be open to speaking with him?"

"If he can get the king to ease up on us, I'm sure he'd let Saizo sit on the chief's chair for at _least_ ten seconds."

"Wow, ten whole seconds? Outstanding." He smiled like the sun. "I'll send word for him to come as soon as he can."

* * *

Five months into the famine, and she finally gave out.

One moment, she was plowing the fields; the next, she was looking up at the sky and her husband's face. He was gripping her shoulders, repeating her name again and again. She couldn't keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds without the world tilting on it's axis; so she clenched them shut, silencing the sun's infuriated orange glare.

Rinkah felt herself being lifted off the ground, and the world went away again. When she resurfaced they were back home, and Kaze was shoving a bowl into her hands.

"Eat it," he begged. "Just eat it."

They had already eaten their singular meal for the day, and the bowl wasn't filled with fish or even insects. _What is this?_ She dipped her hand into the white fluff and it sank inside, the thick, gummy substance melding around her fingers. The sound it made was unbearable; her empty stomach folded in on itself shyly.

"It's okay, I promise. I'm eating it too, see?"

Rinkah trusted Kaze. She took some of the mystery food in her mouth. She could hardly register the taste, but whatever it was had a rounded, dense consistency. In the midst of the gelatinous mush there were crescent shaped ovals, and when she bit down on them they burst wetly in her mouth.

"Please just finish it."

Normally she would've teased him for his insistence, but she was still dizzy and he sounded desperate. So Rinkah shoveled the food into her mouth just like she would any meal, pushing down her stale nausea.

Once she was done he guided her to bed, tucking her in like a child. She kept her eyes closed as he stroked her cheek, lightly tracing her tattoos. Kaze eventually buried his face in her hair. "Do you feel better?" he asked, voice pinched.

 _Barely_ —but still, a technical yes. She nodded and turned towards him.

* * *

Kaze nearly had to drag her to the doctor the next day. He even entered the small office with her, which was expressly forbidden for Outsiders.

The doctor narrowed her eyes when she saw him. "I thought I told you you aren't—"

 _"We don't have time for this today!"_ he snapped. "She passed out in the fields last night. Do something."

She glared at him one final time before turning her attention to Rinkah. "This is a waste of time," she sneered under her breath. In all frankness, Rinkah agreed. There was hardly any rice to go around; the winter harvest wouldn't be for another month; with each day, there seemed to be less fish and insects to catch; there were only so many trees with edible cambium. The cause of her blackout was obvious, and the solution was still a ways off.

The doctor ran through her standard litany of questions, eyes half-lidded as she nodded mechanically with each response. But she immediately perked up when she noticed the size of Rinkah's midsection, camouflaged by her winter gear. "Woah, you're so much bigger than you were two months ago! That's _nuts_."

She poked Rinkah's midsection, eyes shining with fascination. And then, to Rinkah's numb dread, she felt something inside poke back.

The girl in front of her froze. She felt around her midsection with a more purposeful touch. "Well, it's all there. Head, arms, legs. Looks like you're pregnant after all."

There was no joy in her tone. Rinkah hardly felt any herself.

"How far along is she?" she heard Kaze ask from behind her.

The doctor pulled a book from her shelf and leafed through the pages. "She's pretty big." She looked up and Rinkah, then back down again, comparing her size to whatever was written down. "I'd say about six months?"

She phrased it as a question, but a six-month timeline fit—it had been about that long since her ritual with Orochi. Still, she had a hard time digesting the number. Six months meant she was more than halfway through. If she hadn't blacked out and been forced to see the doctor, she likely would've been in denial up until the moment of delivery.

"It's weird that you didn't feel anything," the young doctor went on. "Not even a kick? A little flutter? Hiccups?"

"I… felt things," she admitted. "I just wrote it off as being a symptom of the hunger. Besides, we haven't been able to conceive for five years. I was starting to think it might never happen."

But now, it was. She thought back on the sort of soul she had summoned: the green, watery artisan who would surely be out of step with ways of the Flame Tribe. To be an outcast was fine for an ordinary citizen, but a future chief? Unacceptable.

"What are the chances of her carrying to term?" Rinkah turned to look at Kaze. His fingers pressed to his lips, he stared at her midsection pensively.

The girl rubbed her collarbone. "Chances of carrying to term are… less than they would be normally. Still, you carried this long, and that's a good sign. I would say the biggest threat right now is stillbirth."

"And how do we minimize that?" Rinkah asked.

"You're gonna need all the nutrients you can get." Her eyes flickered over to Kaze. "You're her husband. Make it happen."

His features—normally so placid—hardened with understanding. "Yes, of course."

Even with how stupid she felt for not accepting her condition sooner, Rinkah still caught what the doctor was telling Kaze to do. "He's not giving his food to me."

"Rinkah—"

Rinkah stood up. She paced towards the doctor and before the girl could react, she had grabbed her by the collar and slammed her against the wall. Several books toppled onto the ground. "You may not care what happens to this Outsider, but I do. I'll be damned if I watch him starve!"

"I'm already starving!" he said, prying her fingers from the girl's shirt. "We all are, including the baby. It depends on you for food. It makes sense that you should receive double the amount."

"I've done just fine for six months. What's another three?"

"It's a lifetime." the doctor said, slightly out of breath and a touch taunting. "You might carry to term. You might even give birth to a living thing! But, hey, let's tell a joke: it survives infancy. What about childhood? _Adult_ hood? You not getting enough food now is setting it on a collision course of failure. Any mother worth her salt would choose her child over her husband. You fucked up the first six months, the most you can do is get your shit together for the last three. Now," she pointed to the door, " _get out_ , and take your leg-humping Outsider with you!"

* * *

"You know she's never going to treat you again, right?"

She swore Kaze was still blushing. Rinkah rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter what she wants, she's duty-bound to treat us all."

They pushed the door open into their home. "She didn't even prescribe you anything…"

"She did, but it wasn't for me. Though if you try to follow through with what she said, I'll just throw your food to the dogs."

"Why must you be so difficult?"

"Because her 'prescription' wasn't about the baby at all. There are plenty of people in this tribe who would _love_ to see you starve to death."

Rinkah didn't know what she hated more—the truth in her words or Kaze's lack of outrage. "Doesn't make it any less true. If you won't accept my rations, then I'll find more for you some other way. I promise."

As if to illustrate his point, he walked out the back door in the direction of the forest. She knew he wouldn't want her out in the fields so soon after her blackout, and Rinkah didn't quite feel like it besides. Flames could quiet down; even the God of Flame was at rest in Nohr.

Still, the kitchen needed cleaning. Kaze had left out the bowls from the previous night still out, unwashed; curious, she took one and held it up to the natural light. And there she saw it, those yellowish creatures crusted over at the bottom of the bowl.

Maggots. He fed her maggots.

* * *

The winter harvest was always the least fruitful, and by most measures their harvest that year was a disaster. But the root vegetables held, which was more than any of them expected. There could be no celebratory feast because of the demands of the policy, but the tribe still gathered around the Great Fire Pit to give thanks.

But unlike most celebrations, the chief was nowhere to be seen. It seemed that between his duties to his king, his village, and his family, Saizo had finally found peace long enough to come to the Flame Tribe. Normally, Rinkah and Kaze would have greeted Saizo at the mouth of the valley, taken him to their home, fed him something (as laughable as that was), and then escort him to the chief's quarters; but given the circumstances, Rinkah could only send a pair of escorts to take Saizo to her father.

This was because, as heir to the chief's chair, she was expected fill her father's role in his absence. She strode over to the Great Fire Pit with her belly pointed towards the sun, her husband trailing her dutifully. For once Rinkah was glad to be the subject of everyone's stares.

Past that, she did what her father did: presided. She could only sneak a few lines with Kaze every so often, because she knew that just as everyone's eyes were on the pit and each other, they were also on her: the rebellious chief-in-training, the one their tribe's savior would have hated. _I can sit here and do nothing along with the best of them_ she mused, holding back a bubble of laughter.

* * *

"That Outsider's brother is an arrogant, pigheaded dastard! He should consider himself banned from Flame Tribe grounds!"

Rinkah was taken aback. Their tribe didn't appreciate Outsiders, but he had never taken to outright _banning_ any from their territory. "What happened?" she asked, voice small even to her own ears.

Her father huffed, running his thick fingers through his thinning hair. "It doesn't matter. He refuses to help us. Probably halfway back to his decrepit Outsider village by now."

* * *

Eight months in, and she still couldn't believe it.

So one bright-night, Rinkah decided to drill it into her own head. She sat down before their hearth cauldron, which she knew in some Outsider circles symbolized the womb. Staring into it's dark, empty depths, she repeated to herself: _I'm pregnant I'm pregnant I'm pregnant I'm pregnant I'm pregnant._ She didn't dare think _I'm going to have a child_ , because she followed a god of truth and refused to dishonor him any further by ignoring reality. There was no promise she'd give birth to a living thing. Even after swearing to never feed her larvae again, Kaze still made good on his vow to keep her fed by through frying bark, boiling insects, making one week's worth of root vegetable rations stretch out to cover two, counting out rice grains to do the same; but despite his efforts, she knew it probably wasn't enough. Perhaps whatever damage her denial had done was irreversible.

But even if she did have a child—then what? Few as they were, children of mixed marriages were accepted as full members of the tribe, but a future chief was another matter entirely.

The words echoed in her mind, as though she could actually hear her great-great-great-great grandmother's booming voice. _No Outsiders!_

She imagined those words going up in flames and smoke, just as she had the night she and Kaze decided they would marry. If her child lived, would they be accepted as heir? Perhaps not—but surely, they _could_ be.

 _You're dead,_ she taunted the old crone. _Who cares how you feel?_

* * *

She gave birth in late spring.

Labor was the most painful thing she ever experienced, but while she knew some women who had theirs last several days, hers took no more than an hour. Three midwives gathered around her, and Kaze held her hand while she pushed, pushed, _pushed._ And just as she'd always been told: first came the head, then the rest slipped out like a serpent.

After that, Rinkah clenched her eyes shut. It was one thing to acknowledge the possibility of stillbirth, and another to face it in the moment. She strained hard to hear an infant's cry and when she didn't immediately hear one, she assumed the worst. She couldn't bear to open her eyes and see the devastation on Kaze's face; she blocked out the voices of the midwives, refusing to hear their nervous whispers. _("What a shame. What a waste. How should we tell her?")_

She did not want to know the sex. She did not want to see it's face. She didn't want to know if it's looks favored her or Kaze, if it was born with hair or not, how big it was, if it had the face of a future chief. What was the point? She had given birth to a dead thing.

And then: a thin, strangled cry.

It wasn't as robust she'd hoped it would be, but it was something. She opened her eyes and saw that Kaze was smiling; he bent down and kissed her forehead. The midwives were handling the baby—wiping it down, checking its vitals. The most senior among them then placed the squirming infant on Rinkah's chest.

A girl. She was lovely. She had her father's gentle eyes, and a mix of both their complexions. Her hair—no more than a wispy tuft—was bone white like hers. Was this a future chief? She certainly had the spirit of a fighter. To defy the odds like she did was the strength of their tribe, embodied.

At this point, she hadn't yet noticed that the girl was light as a feather, or how positively tiny she was. She also didn't notice how her every intake of breath was long and labored. What she saw was an infant, growing into a girl, growing into a woman, and all the things she had the potential to become. She was the legacy of their lineage, stripped of its flaws and concentrated to perfection.

During the last month, she and Kaze decide that she would choose the name for a son, while he would choose the name for a daughter. After the midwives had left the room to give the new parents their privacy, Rinkah looked to Kaze. "So, what'll she go by?"

He stroked the girl's white hair. He could fit her entire head in the palm of his hand, and still have room left over. "Midori."

The Green Heir to the Flame Tribe. She could live with that.


	4. IV

**IV**

 _Her eyebrows are green_. _How curious._

But it seemed like so much about Midori was, from her conception to her too-easy birth to her surviving six months—and now, her eyebrows. The girl sucked at her empty breasts desperately, face swelling pink. She let go and exhaled a cry furious enough to rattle Rinkah's bones.

Kaze set down a bowl of boiled larvae as he pulled Midori away. He hummed a tune Rinkah didn't recognize, and rubbed her back in time with it. When Rinkah's milk dried up, there was little else they could do to ease her sobbing fits.

"Father wants to hold the six-month ceremony in his quarters."

"Does he." Kaze didn't sound particularly enthused, and Rinkah didn't blame him. It wasn't as if he'd be allowed to attend.

"Yes. He's excited to host one again after so many years."

Nineteen years, to be exact. The last he held was for the firstborn of her eldest sister. Rinkah had only been six at the time, but she still remembered it vividly: presenting the child to their ancestors, passing him over fire, dedicating him to the God of Flame. She even remembered how _happy_ she'd been to join her parents and siblings in their chant to bless the new baby with luck and longevity. No ritual was perfect, and plenty of children died before making it to the next milestone of five years, but it was a cruel irony that her nephew and everyone else died just three weeks later.

Midori's sobbing calmed. He laid her down in the crook of his elbow, rocking her as she drifted to sleep. "Did you check the forest again?" she asked him.

"Yes."

"And? Did you find any more bark?"

"No."

"All gone?"

"Yes."

Rinkah shoved a fistful of maggots into her mouth. She hated eating them, hated that they'd run out of spices to disguise the taste, hated that she no longer cared. "That's unfortunate."

"Mmhm." He stared hard out the window with an unreadable expression.

"You know, it would be great if you answered using more than one syllable." She set her bowl down on the table, hard. "You've been acting strange since last week. Hard. Unreachable. What gives?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure? What," she smiled wryly, "has tribal living finally gotten to you? Not as glamourous as everyone said it'd be?"

He didn't answer, and Rinkah hoped to all the gods what she said came out as a joke. She could do without Kaze knowing about the one fear she had since the moment they met: that who she was and where she came from wouldn't be enough to keep him.

He wasn't one of them, and never could be. There were things only people from the tribe could understand. He wasn't born under the blazing eye of the Flame God. He wasn't reared packed tight in a one room home, didn't sleep sandwiched between his six siblings while his parents pillow-talked a few feet away. He didn't receive his first club for his 5th birthday. He wasn't expected survive a week on his own in the wilderness at age 12, nor did he get his facial marks as tribute to the milestone. Their fierceness, their pride, their fire: none of it was present in him. What was this lovebird doing among crows? "Kaze, can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Why in all the hells are you and the girl still here?"

He cradled the back of Midori's head. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Just answer the question."

"Because this is our home." He spoke as if the question itself confused him, like the answer was obvious for anyone to see.

"But you're both starving because of where you live," she replied levelly. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about leaving."

"'Leaving'?" His voice was hard, raspy. "And where would we land? _Igasato?"_

"Actually, yes. That's your hometown, I'm sure they'd welcome—"

"Well, they wouldn't. Get the idea out of your head."

Rinkah might have believed that if Saizo the Fourth were still living, but number five was now head of the village, and he had the final say. "Did you and Saizo have a falling out?" She narrowed her eyes. "I see. You stay because you have nowhere else to go!"

Midori jumped up, startled. Rinkah expected her to start crying since it seemed it was it was all she ever did while awake; but instead she continued to coo, wiggling in her father's light grasp.

"No, that's not it." His expression and voice dripped with resignation as he stared down at Midori's face, absent of any of the anger she'd been expecting. "This is my home and I would never abandon you, but I know living this way is unfair to our child. Last month, I hardened my heart and sent a letter to Orochi, asking about sending Midori to Igasato. I wouldn't have actually done it without talking to you first," he quickly added, "but I wanted the door to be open in case we had to get her there quickly."

Rinkah nodded slowly. As future head of the tribe it would be best if Midori stayed home, but an offbeat chief with foreign mannerisms was better than none at all. "I understand."

"I knew you would." He smiled sadly. "I went through all the formalities, even offered to reimburse them for Midori's expenses, but… gods, Orochi always wanted a daughter. And Midori is Saizo's _niece._ I never considered they might say no."  
Rinkah laughed humorlessly. "But they obviously did. Did they at least honor us with a reason?"

Kaze rose and took Midori over to her bassinet, one of the many that had been passed down in her family. He set her down there, and looked down at her for what felt like a long while. When he finally continued, his voice was empty of emotion. "When my brother came to speak with your father, he was apparently so disturbed by our living conditions that he refused to hold the meeting until your father explained what was going on. As expected, Saizo refused to believe King Ryoma was at fault, the two got into a shouting match, and you know the rest: my brother was tossed out."

"So he's taking the slight out on Midori?"

Kaze shook his head. "Saizo isn't that petty. Still, he had no desire to look into it any further, perhaps fearing what he might find. But his wife, on the other hand… she leaves no stone unturned. Orochi investigated the matter on her own, and concluded that your father was telling the truth. So of course, she petitioned King Ryoma on our behalf. She pleaded for our children and the elderly, for those who died from the hunger, for the fate of the newly born. She reminded him that the Flame Tribe has never rebelled against the crown. She even evoked our shared childhood, how I now walk among you. And do you know," Kaze's locked eyes with hers, "what King Ryoma _said_ , dear?"

Rinkah shook with anticipation. "What did the bastard say?"

"He said that starving the _'bipedal dogs of the Flame Tribe'_ was his prerogative. That this was his way of scrubbing us off the map and burning us from the pages of history. That I had condemned myself to the mass grave he was digging, and Midori—" Kaze ran his hand through his matted hair, voice choked. "He said Midori would make an _interesting test subject!"_

She shot up out of her chair. _"I'll kill him!"_

Midori began to cry, wafting between sobbing and screeching. Rinkah flexed her fingers, itching for her flame club. She wanted to bash King Ryoma's face in. She wanted to set Shirasagi ablaze. She wanted to rip the wings off the Dawn Dragon _personally_.

"And I wouldn't stop you. I don't think any decent person would." Kaze picked Midori up, bouncing her. "But you _can't._ King Ryoma is the Dawn Dragon's right hand, and we—"

"We have the God of Flame, who far outclasses that overgrown sparrow!"

"Please don't make me regret telling you."

"Then what," she growled through clenched teeth, "do you suggest I do?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "They can't take Midori because Saizo's too close to the crown for her to be safe. We have no other allies. We—"

"Enough." She brought her hands to her eyes, and slowly dragged them town to her mouth. " _Enough._ I get it. We're on our own."

* * *

That bright-night, while Kaze and Midori slept, Rinkah laid awake staring hard at the ceiling.

She could kick herself for not having seen it before. The policy wasn't poorly designed, it was _perfectly_ designed. Implement redistribution. Wait for a bad harvest. Trap the undesirables in a cycle of sacrificing all their food to the empire. Watch as every last one of them eventually drops dead under the sun.

At least the Earth Tribe had been forthright with their objective.

* * *

There was pounding on the door, jolting the three of them awake. Rinkah left Kaze to starve off another crying fit while she stormed to their front door, ready to clobber whoever was on the other side. She swallowed her anger when she saw it was one of their shamans, figuring the God of Flame would not appreciate her assaulting one of his holy men. Rinkah forced a smile. "Yes?"

"You're needed at the riverbank."

"What for?" Behind her, Midori dissolved into tears. Rinkah couldn't keep the sneer off her face.

The old man swayed in the mid-autumn breeze. The landscape beyond him was a pallet of blues and greys, absent of the splashes of color so associated with the season. Desperation had been high since the summer export, and some had taken to ripping the leaves off of trees to feed their hungry families. Rinkah and Kaze hadn't been driven to that point—they only had one child—but she would be lying if she said she hadn't been tempted. The shaman held her gaze. "The army is here."

The air around her suddenly felt very thick. "I'm sorry?"

"The Hoshidan army. They're here. They're is blocking access to the river."

* * *

As she approached, Rinkah saw the soldiers surrounding the river single-file. There appeared to be tribe members trying to reason with them, but the soldiers were wholly unmoved by their desperation, staring ahead as if they as if they weren't even there. One mother collapsed in a cloudy heap, sobbing into her hands while her emaciated children looked on with soulless eyes.

Rinkah marched up to one of the soldiers. She was short even by Flame Tribe standards, but she still puffed out her chest and said in her most authoritative tone, "why are you here? Who sent you?!"

No response. Rinkah balled up her hands, and it took every inch of willpower she had not to bust him in the teeth. "As daughter of the Flame Tribe Chief, I have a right to know!"

She was demanding answers, but she was sill surprised when his eyes flickered down to meet hers. "The Hoshidan ambassador will be meeting with the Flame Chief shortly. That is all we are authorized to say to you."

* * *

As she approached her father's quarters, she could see two Hoshidan officials standing guard by the doors. They crossed their naginatas over the doors when they saw her approach.

" _Move!_ I'm the chief's daughter. I have every right to attend this meeting!"

Unlike the soldier stationed at the river, the officials didn't budge. And so, Rinkah did what any Flame Tribesman would do, and found another way. She ducked down beneath the naginatas and shoved the door open.

She made it two steps before one of the officials caught her by the back of her tunic. "A-apologies, Lady Hinoka!" the other stammered. "We'll make sure this ruffian is duly punished."

Her father shot up from his seat. "Unhand my daughter!"

Both men looked to Lady Hinoka. "She can stay if she likes," she said with a wave of the hand. The official shoved her free, and Rinkah fell hard on the ground. They promptly returned to their stations outside.

Her father rushed to her to help her stand. Lady Hinoka took a sip of the tea that had been offered to her. Her face twisted in displeasure, and she set the cup down with more force than necessary. "I understand what it's like," she continued. "I was prevented from sitting in on meetings when my father was alive. I wouldn't dream of passing that disrespect along."

Rinkah could throttle her. How dare she try to commiserate like they were old friends? "That's rich coming from the likes of you."

"Rinkah, mind yourself," her father warned. "She's an envoy of the Dawn Dragon."

 _She sure doesn't look the part._ Lady Hinoka sat before them in the garb of a sky knight, her disheveled hair and wind-beaten face standing in contrast to the pristine ideal the royal family was expected to present. If Rinkah had met her in any other context, she wouldn't have thought of her as any different from the infantrymen blocking the river.

"It's fine. I know your people value directness, so let's get down to business." Lady Hinoka didn't wait for the two of them to take their seats before continuing. "It's come to our attention that the people of your tribe have been fishing in one of our rivers. Is this true?"

Her father nodded slowly. "Yes, but we've been using that river for generations—"

"That's all well and good, but according to our scientists, the river's ecosystem had been thrown into chaos due to overuse. There are apparently very few fish left. You can agree with this, can't you?"

They couldn't _disagree_. Everyone knew the fish were getting harder to catch.

"So you see," Lady Hinoka continued, "it's in both Hoshido and the Flame Tribe's best interest to block off the river until it's ecology can be restored. This can take quite a while, unfortunately. We hope you understand."

Rinkah felt a familiar heat rise up in her chest. The royal family had everything, and _still_ they wanted more? "Why don't you ask your _precious brother_ why we have to fish so often? It's because of his brilliant direction that we've gotten to this point!"

"Rinkah—"

"No, we need answers! This policy is supposed to alleviate famine everywhere, _is it not?_ Then why is it when we have a bad harvest, we're forced to give up what's edible? Why are _our_ imports rotted by the time they get here? Why are we being forced to eat leaves and tree bark, _Lady Hinoka?!_ And now, _now_ you have the audacity to come here and cut us off from the last respectable food source we have? What is it that you're trying to do here?!"

 _Say it, you goddamn bitch. Admit you're trying to wipe us out. Give me an excuse._

"Give us your young men, and I'll reopen the river."

"Excuse me?!"

Lady Hinoka repeated herself slowly, enunciating her words. "Give us your young men, and I'll reopen—"

Her father chopped his hand through the air. "We heard you, insolent child! What do you mean, _'give you'_?"

"Exactly as I said." Lady Hinoka held herself square-shouldered and firm. "Ages 16 through 25. Round them up to be collected by the end of the week."

"For what?"

"Well, that," she smiled, "isn't _any_ of your business. If you want access to that river, you'll do as I ask. You people may have been using it for 'generations', but it has always been outside your territory. You have no more right to it than you do anything else past this valley." She sat back in her seat. "I'll allow you until this time tomorrow to decide. I suggest you consider your choices _carefully._ "


End file.
